FromtheHeart City
by amoenavi
Summary: Colin Mathews is known for one thing - and empathy ain't it.


From-The-Heart City

by: amoenavi

A/N: Written for tweensanta for unoriginal_liz on LJ. It's really late but thank you for the prompt! Oh, Colin. The (amazing) prompt was: Press Gang: Colin - the seven worst things to say to someone who just got dumped.

-x-x-

ONE.

If there's one skill Colin's never quite managed to master (for a sincere lack of trying on his part, admittedly), it's this: keeping his mouth shut.

Spike's leather-clad form is leaning against the bricks, staring out into nothing, signature shades in place. Colin hurries over with the folder of potential business ventures for him to scoff at.

"Spike?" he asks, watching Spike's reaction from a safe distance away. He swears, even one muscle tensing in Spike's arms and he's up and running, to hell with looking manly. "Are you busy?"

The brooding boy shifts his gaze to him, raising an eyebrow. "You'll have to schedule an appointment," he says. "I'm up to my elbows in work."

Colin nods. "You're free then? Great! Now, how about we discuss some of these businesses?" He pulls out the first paper. "I know, I know – it seems a bit sketchy but really, aren't all good businesses a bit sketchy at first?"

"Is there a sign around my neck that says 'ignore me for the paper', Colin? Because it sure as hell seems like it today."

The entrepreneur sighs, realizing that he'll have to deal with Spike's issues before receiving any investments. "What, did Lynda do something to you again? Spike, how many times do I have to say it? Demand monetary retribution for your smothered manliness."

Downside: he got a black eye and shoved into the mud. Upside: the mud behind the school does wonders for his complexion. He can definitely market it to some of the girls.

TWO.

One fine day, Colin learns that Lynda's quick wit is not to be taken so literally.

He smiles widely at the blur of a girl running through the Gazette's office doors. "Morning, Lynda," he greets. She doesn't glance at him.

"Did Frazz get that picture I wanted? The one of the counterfeiter?" Lynda asks, tossing her bag onto a chair and yanking open a drawer in her desk. She rustles around for a moment before finding a red pen and a pair of scissors. "Is Sarah's article on your desk?" She brandishes the scissors at him threateningly. He gulps.

"Does this have something to do with the funds that are missing? Because I swear, Lynda – it was an investment. We'll be getting the money back tenfold soon!" She levels a patented Lynda Day glare at Colin's feet, lying on the only empty space of the desk. He purposefully ignores it and continues talking, "Or is this about a boy?" He grins. "_Made in America_, is he? I knew you two lovebirds would patch things up!"

"Well, apparently seamstress is not one of my talents – we broke up," she quips, taking the stack of papers and smacking his shoes. "Let me have it." He stares at her blankly. "The article?" she prompts.

Colin lets his feet fall to the ground and looks at the mess of a desk in front of him. "Yes, about that…" he trails off, apparently not finding a good excuse as to why Sarah's article is not on his desk. Or is on his desk, just underneath a pile of receipts and vouchers and a stuffed cockatoo. He distracts instead, "I'm glad you've realized that seamstress is not a career option for you – although I _do _think it's terrible that Spike broke up with you because of your fashion sense. Especially since Spike would probably prefer you _without clothing_." Colin eyes the multicolored striped sweater and the clashing polka-dotted leggings with distaste. "I think we all would."

He gets a sound slap _and _a severe dock in his budgets for the comment.

THREE.

Colin doesn't understand people sometimes.

There is a finite amount of wealth in the world and he just… he wants most of it (all of it) for himself. It's not that hard a concept and he's pretty consistent. He's been hatching moneymaking schemes since he was two and used to take the money from the pockets of women who cooed over his carriage.

So, really – Kenny should have seen this one coming.

"Hey, mate – what's shaking?" He's trying out these new phrases to appeal to his hip American market. He doesn't take it as a bad sign when Spike doesn't understand – that boy's always been a little out of it anyway.

Kenny starts, head snapping up and looking around wildly. "What – what is it? Is Lynda back from her 'vacation'?"

The psychologist told Lynda it was time for a break.

Lynda agreed and asked if the woman would like her right or her left arm broken first.

And thus Lynda's quite-possibly-school-mandated-one-week-vacation began.

"No, no – why? Can't I talk to my homeboy one on one?" Kenny's eyebrows raised high. "Do you want to talk about the chicks?"

"I… suppose so, Colin." He sighs. "I mean, it's sort of ex-girl troubles now."

"Sorry, that's always a real blow to the ego. She find her Romeo and leave you, Paris?"

"More like her Juliet," the boy mumbles under his breath and Colin (using his extra-sensitive hearing) hears and gasps.

"She left you for a _girl?" _

"Yes and it was horrible and I'd really like to stop talking about it now."

"A girl," he repeats.

"Her best friend." Kenny shakes his head. "Apparently they'd been dating for months, they just didn't know how to tell me."

Colin winces.

"That's cold, my brother." Frazz laughs in the background of the newsroom, reading another one of his comic books. Colin comes up with an idea quickly and once a moneymaking scheme's in his brain, so help him God, he has to follow through. It's biological or something. "Can I ask you a favor?" Kenny frowns.

"I'd rather you didn't…"

"Good, I was just wondering if you could write some sort of memoir? A best-selling novel based on your experiences, perhaps?" Kenny's mouth opens. "I would write it myself, but they say that you should write what you know and, well…" Colin smiles winningly. "You know!"

Kenny, surprisingly, sics Lynda on him. Another dock in his budget.

FOUR.

"Buck up, Sarah. There's always me."

FIVE.

"Tiddler, Tiddler, Tiddler. We all know that guys are essentially walking, talking hormones," he soothes, wrapping an arm about the small girl's shoulders. She sniffs. "There, there, it'll be all right."

"I know, Colin, it's just – I thought maybe it would be different, you know? That this was the romance I'd been waiting for." She sighs forlornly. "Stupid boy doesn't even know my name."

"Right, right – stupid boy. But, if you _want _him to know your name…" Colin trails off here, gesturing subtly at his top drawer. "In there might be just what you need." Tiddler frowns and leans forward to open it.

She stares at the open drawer. And stares some more. And then she turns bright red. "COLIN!"

"What? Is it the wrong drawer?" he asks, checking to make sure it's the right one. Yup, it's all good. "No, that's it. Ta-da."

"Colin, is this one of those new water… _you-know-whats_?"

Colin grins. "Isn't it great? We start selling them next week."

Tiddler wanders off to find Lynda, muttering, "Fridgin' fridgey fridge. Fridge!" under her breath. He's not quite sure what that means but he knows somehow his budget is slowly dwindling down to nothing in the course of this month.

SIX.

Julie slumps into her desk, Colin choosing to perch on the edge.

"Could you possibly get a picture of my new business partner?" he asks.

She stares at him.

"I'll tell him you'll be by in the evening, then?"

"Colin, I've not been having a good day. My boyfriend just broke up with me. He's jealous of Frazz spending so much time with me. Frazz! I just want to curl up in a corner and die."

Colin considers her point for a moment. "I never liked that boyfriend of yours." He shakes his head. "Too German."

SEVEN.

"I thought it was all working out for the best this time, Colin," his wife says, exasperated.

He continues to shred the most recent financial history of his friends. "It'll be all right, really. This is the last time. And it's not like I was doing anything _illegal_, per se…"

She's out the door the next morning, stuff gone with her.

Colin sits down in front of the mirror and pours himself a drink, calling in sick to work. He says nothing.

-x-x-


End file.
